


How I Survived My First Christmas with the Hohenzollerns

by raspberryhunter



Category: 18th Century CE Frederician RPF, 18th Century CE RPF
Genre: Christmas 1732, Dysfunctional Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pre-Slash, Treat, all the parts that seem like crackfic are actually canon, the canon is the warning
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-31
Updated: 2020-07-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 19:13:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,658
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25620382
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/raspberryhunter/pseuds/raspberryhunter
Summary: One week with Prince Friedrich’s family at Christmastime. How bad could it really be?
Relationships: Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf & Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great, Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf/Friedrich II von Preußen | Frederick the Great
Comments: 7
Kudos: 12
Collections: Rare Male Slash Exchange 2020





	How I Survived My First Christmas with the Hohenzollerns

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selena/gifts).
  * Inspired by [With You, There's a Heaven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619197) by [mildred_of_midgard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/pseuds/mildred_of_midgard). 



> Two cakes? :)  
> Many thanks to mildred_of_midgard and sprocket for ~~pushing me to write this~~ encouragement, historical checks, sanity checks, and in general dealing with a large volume of all kinds of random questions and issues!

It wasn't like I didn't know what to expect when I went to see Prince Friedrich's family with him in Berlin for the first time. The Prince talked about his sister the Princess Wilhelmine a great deal, and his mother sometimes, but I knew that the Prince and his father were -- well, "they didn't get along" is putting it mildly. From what I heard, it would have been closer to say, “The King executed the Prince's lover in front of him, nearly executed the Prince as well, but settled for putting him under house arrest in Küstrin for more than a year, not even letting him have any music," although it doesn't really convey what it must have been like for him, and I'd seen only the tail end of the effects of Lieutenant Katte's execution on the Prince.

I'd dared to hope those days were mostly over, now that Prince Friedrich had agreed to marry as the King wished. It was that, after all, that had led to the Prince being able to have someone -- me, as it turned out -- play flute for him. And that had led to the Prince considering me his valet, something I'd never thought was even possible. So, I thought, maybe the King had softened. And anyway, even if they continued their estrangement, the Prince would get to see the rest of his family, and that would make up for it. A week with them at Christmastime couldn’t be so bad, right?

Well, no one got condemned to death while we were there, at least not while I was looking. But that was the lowest of low bars.

*

“You won’t be my valet when we see my family,” the Prince said in Ruppin the day before we left, frowning worriedly at me. “I’m going to have a different bodyservant wait on me personally. As far as my father knows, you’re just going to be a regular lackey like anyone else.” He didn’t have to add, _but you’re not just anyone to me_ ; his face said it for him. “Of course this is just while we’re in Berlin; you’ll be my valet again when we return.”

I said, “I don’t mind at all.” Given what had happened to Lieutenant Katte, I could see why the Prince wasn't eager to tell his father that anyone was important to him in any capacity, even a servant. Maybe especially a servant, who didn't have a noble family behind him. Seeing that I meant it, the Prince nodded a little.

“Knowing my father, I imagine that since you won’t be waiting on me, he’ll probably conscript you to be part of the house entourage while we’re there. That is, you’ll be with all the other servants, and your duties will be with them.”

The duties I also didn’t mind. I was a quick study; someone who wasn’t would never have gotten along with Prince Friedrich in the first place. And when one is in the army, as I’d been before coming to the Prince, one learns to do a lot of different things. Besides, the Prince didn’t use me as a valet nearly as much as he was supposed to, anyway; I knew some of the other servants in Ruppin sniggered about it behind my back, calling me a valet who had never even handed the Prince a shirt. (Not true, although it is true that I’d had to learn from scratch how to dress a prince properly, and also true that Prince Friedrich often got irritated with the whole undertaking and didn’t let me finish, which probably did my nascent valet reputation no favors.)

But one thing about it struck me. “So I won’t be staying with you?” I’d become used to sleeping in the room adjoining his, and I also worried about him. Sometimes the Prince had nightmares from which he woke gasping and crying. Sometimes I found myself going to him in the middle of the night, saying soothing things to him the way one might to a small child.

“No,” said the Prince, letting the word hang in the air. He did not mention the nightmares; I had not thought he would. I couldn’t mention them myself. It was one of those things we didn’t speak of. “No, you’ll be staying with the other servants, of course.” He looked away from me, his face grim.

“Of course, sir,” I said softly. I knew one thing that would take him out of his mood: music. I said after a pause: “Would you like to play together? Perhaps one of the Quantz duets?”

“Yes,” he said huskily. “We’d better… play as much as we can now, before we go.” I turned to get my flute and his, but he said, “Wait a second. I wanted to tell you something. I’ll be able to get my hands on more money while I’m there. I’ll get you a blank book.”

“Thank you, sir,” I said, beaming. “That will be so useful for the household accounts.” Paper was expensive; I only had a little, and had to use it sparingly for calculations which I couldn’t do in my head, or for the occasional letter.

“No,” Prince Friedrich said impatiently. “Not for those. I’ll get you another for the accounts if you need one. I wanted this to be for you. For you to write… whatever you want. Poetry, plays, a secret diary, it doesn’t matter to me. This is for _you_.”

“For me?” I was stupefied.

“Yes,” he said, “writing is important, and I’d like you to be able to do it yourself.” I knew it was important to him; he was if anything a compulsive writer, and I’d sometimes see him writing for hours until his hand cramped up. But I’d never thought that he would think of me in this light. He went on: “The Münchows gave me writing materials in Küstrin.” I knew about this from the other servants; he had been officially forbidden to have those as well. “So I’d like to do this. Since we can’t play flute together for a while.”

He turned away so he did not see the tears pricking at my eyelids. I could not believe that he was thinking of it now, in the middle of all the constraints the King was placing on him. “You don’t have to, my Prince.”

“But I want to,” he said.

*

The first thing Prince Friedrich did on his arrival in Berlin was make his way to his mother the Queen’s apartments, with us servants in tow. I smiled to see how eager he was, thinking about my own old mother and how much I loved going to visit her.

There were several others in the room with the Queen. Prince Friedrich went in and made a beeline to -- not his mother. A younger woman, whom I realized immediately must be the Princess Wilhelmine. He all but ran to her and embraced her. The look in his eyes: I’d never seen such a look of longing and happiness in anyone’s eyes as I saw then.

It made me feel a little odd. I loved my brothers and sisters, but none of them had ever looked at me quite that way. Even the girls I’d occasionally stepped out with hadn’t looked at me like that, as if I were their whole world, as if I were their refuge from everything. I wasn’t entirely sure whether I _wanted_ anyone to look at me like that.

But that was all I saw, because at that moment one of the servants recognized that I hadn’t yet been put to work and pulled me over to go to the kitchens with him. “I’m Karl,” said the man as we walked. “And you’re --?”

“Michael,” I said, “Michael Fredersdorf.” I covertly studied this new acquaintance of mine; he was about my height and age, with light-colored hair. “Have you been here long?”

Karl shrugged. “My whole life, really. My parents are retainers here, so my siblings and I grew up helping in the palace. The King likes to be thrifty that way, although he did start paying wages once I became an adult.”

By this time we were at the kitchens, and one of the cooks hollered at me that I should help serve the meal once it was ready, and Karl, you lazy boy, can’t you see that the soup needs stirring? Karl and I grinned at each other, and from that time on we considered ourselves friends.

I made myself useful until dinner was ready, and once it was, carried in the plates as agreed. As I walked in I heard the Queen’s voice, raised acerbically. “Your brother,” the Queen said to the Princess Wilhelmine, “is in despair at being obliged to marry the future princess royal, and not unreasonably.” She turned and stared hard at Prince Friedrich.

Prince Friedrich himself flushed; he had a glassy-eyed look, as if he were trying to ignore everyone and everything. He did not reply to confirm or deny the Queen’s words.

“Madam --” said the Princess.

The Queen shouted, ignoring Princess Wilhelmine, “She is a downright fool!” 

I froze for a second, in defiance of all my servitor training. I knew quite well that good servants were supposed to be invisible. Then again, the other half of that was that those we served were supposed to at least make a nominal effort not to make scenes in front of us.

" _Mother_ ," ground out Princess Wilhelmine, flicking her eyes at me; she’d seen my reaction. I tried to pretend that everything was just fine, nothing to see here, I was used to people getting insulted in front of me.

The Queen acted as if the Princess hadn’t spoken. “To all that is said to her she only answers yes or no, like a complete ninny, with an excessively displeasing foolish laugh to boot.” Prince Friedrich looked even more glassy-eyed and like he wanted to be anywhere but there, if that were possible.

I went back in the kitchen and sat down at the table there, where Karl was eating and playing cards with another servant who looked similar enough to Karl that they must, I thought, be brothers.

Karl pushed a bowl of mush and a spoon over to me. “That's Emil, my cousin," he said, indicating his companion, who was stolidly shoveling mush into his mouth. So I’d been close. "You can see we’re a whole family operation, here. Don’t worry if you mistake him for me; everyone does it. Emil, this is Michael; he came with the Prince.” Emil grunted briefly in response. “Michael, eat a bit. Play a hand with us, if you like. With any luck, we'll have a few minutes before we have to go back in for the next course."

"Thank you," I said, picking up the spoon. “Give me a moment, and I’ll play a hand with you. And, er-- is that kind of conversation usual?" I waved in the general direction of the Queen’s rooms.

Karl grimaced. "The Queen's gotten worse lately, since the Prince and Princess got engaged. She wanted them to marry their cousins in England. The King didn't. The King won.”

"Ah," I said. All of us at Ruppin knew that Prince Friedrich had agreed to marry to please his father, and the Prince had mentioned a couple of times, wistfully, his plans to escape to England. These were the plans, of course, that he had made with Lieutenant Katte. I hadn't known before of the Queen's involvement, though. "She seemed... rather invested in it."

Karl nodded glumly. "She was. We had a bet going as to whether she would prevail or not. It looked as if she would, for a while, but the gossip here is that Seckendorff -- the Imperial Ambassador -- got the king to block it at the last minute.”

I filed away that information to tell Prince Friedrich. I knew he’d been in correspondence with Ambassador Seckendorff, and might find it useful, even if it was only gossip.

Emil had systematically worked his way through his bowl of mush; now that he was done, he put his spoon down and said, “Now, that’s not quite right, Karl. I’d say it started a couple of years ago.” Both cousins looked at me. I nodded to show I understood: a couple of years ago had been when Katte was executed and Prince Friedrich almost had been as well. “Anna and Marie -- they’re the Queen’s chambermaids -- say that the Queen hasn’t allowed the King in her rooms since then.” 

My eyes widened. What had I gotten in the middle of?

*

The next day there was a group of strangers bumming a meal in the kitchen. Everyone seemed to take for granted that they belonged there, even though they didn’t seem to be servants themselves. “Who _are_ these people?” I whispered to Karl.

“They’re a comedian troupe that the King engaged,” Karl said. “They’re actually pretty funny. Apparently he wants everyone to go see them tonight. Even us.”

King Friedrich Wilhelm had ordered no heating in the large room where everyone was watching the comedians, as he had figured that all the people in it would make it warmer. (It was December! Two days before Christmas! No, it wasn’t warm enough.) Karl also didn’t tell me -- because no one knew, except apparently the King -- that it was _four hours_ long. And when I say no one knew, I mean no one knew _including the comedy troupe themselves_. It was pretty clear even during the performance, because I kept seeing them look at the King in almost naked pleading every twenty minutes or so, and the King waving his hand for them to continue. And of course the royal family didn’t know. Princess Wilhelmine wasn’t dressed for four hours in an unheated room and kept coughing, and halfway through I couldn’t take it any more (and if anything happened to her, what would Prince Friedrich do?) and rustled up a blanket to put over her shoulders.

I have to admit the comedians were pretty funny, equally adept with hilarious banter and with slapstick, although they flagged a lot in the last hour. (Because -- I feel like I need to emphasize this -- _four hours_. With no heat. In December!) But I couldn’t enjoy it that much, because Prince Friedrich had that glassy-eyed look almost the entire evening, that I could see. It also occurred to me halfway through that I thought a lot of it was funny because, well, it was in German. And the Prince was much more comfortable in French. His German was… fair-to-middling. Good enough he could communicate when he had to, not good enough that he would enjoy German comedy at all.

The more physical comedy, of course, one didn’t need German to enjoy. I liked it; the King thought it was uproariously and knee-slappingly hilarious. The younger princes also seemed to like it, though in a more muted fashion, but Prince Friedrich and Princess Wilhelmine were rolling their eyes at each other. The King saw that a couple of times and shook his head angrily. I shivered, and not just because of the cold; it looked very much like the King wasn’t done being angry with Prince Friedrich, after all, even after winning the battle of the Prince’s marriage. At least the show ended without anything more than the King raising his voice once or twice when he thought the Prince or Princess wasn’t paying close enough attention.

But you know what the kicker was? I talked to the head of the comedy troupe afterwards, as we were all in the kitchens huddled next to the fires there, trying to get warm. (Since we’d been in an unheated room. For. Four. Hours. In case you’d forgotten.)

The King didn’t even pay them for that four-hour extravaganza. Said that the fact that they’d been engaged to play for the King was like advertising for them, _and_ they got free food out of it, and they didn’t need anything extra. I can tell you that the head comedian was extremely unhappy about that one. Even more unhappy than the rest of us!

*

Like all the other lackeys in the palace, I was cumbered about much serving, as Mother used to sometimes say when she was over-busy with sewing and cooking. But then, she used to say that while indulgently watching the little ones happily chase each other around, saying they were choosing the good part. Here I don’t know who was choosing the good part. No one really seemed to be having a good time, that I could see. Even the smaller princes and princesses seemed very tense, starting at any little noise. And although the servants were a little more relaxed they always seemed to be looking over their shoulders as well.

I started to be worried about not being able to see Prince Friedrich. Every time I passed him in the hallways he looked worse. Sometimes he looked jittery, and sometimes he looked depressed.

It also occurred to me that he didn’t have any access to spare candles. In Küstrin, and later in Ruppin, it had been a mostly-unspoken agreement among the servants that any odd candle ends eventually ended up in Prince Friedrich’s room, where he would use them for illicit reading and writing late at night. I was getting the distinct sense that no such candle arrangement existed here.

I went to find Karl and asked him for help. “They wouldn’t have to be whole candles, of course. Any available candle ends would be fine.”

Karl looked thoughtful. “We’d have to find someone outside the palace to bring some in…” 

“Doesn’t that seem a bit excessive?” I asked. “Surely just finding some inside the palace would be easier.”

Karl shook his head. “The King keeps very careful tabs on the household expenses,” he said. I must have let my face show some incredulity -- a king, keeping track of candle ends? -- for he frowned at me and said, “Really, he does.” I remembered the comedians and nodded. “But… He tapped his finger on his teeth. “I have an idea.”

His idea turned out to involve one of the Queen’s chambermaids, Anna, who was not much older than us, with a gentle and worn face. She heard us out and said to Karl, ”You were thinking of the Queen’s ladies-in-waiting, I see. I believe Frau von Pannewitz would help. She is fond of the Princess Wilhelmine, and I believe she would be willing to help Prince Friedrich. Her maid Dora and I are friends -- I’ll talk to her.”

And so Anna spoke to Dora, who spoke to Frau von Pannewitz, and some time later Karl poured into my palms a number of half-burnt candles. It turned out that they were half-burnt because, as Karl told me, although Frau von Pannewitz had been willing to donate unburnt candles to the cause, Anna had convinced her that if anyone found the Prince in possession of pristine candles, it wouldn’t go well for him and anyone who had helped him.

“Thank you,” I said humbly. “And thank Anna and Dora and Frau von Pannewitz for me.”

“We try to help when we can,” said Karl. “We know how hard it is for him.”

I was partially relieved. At least the Prince had people who were looking out for him. But it occurred to me that the Prince had had people with more authority than servants or a queen’s lady-in-waiting looking out for him in Küstrin as far as they could, but it hadn’t saved him from the King’s wrath, it hadn’t saved him from imprisonment, and it hadn’t saved Lieutenant Katte’s life.

“But it’s not enough,” I said.

“No,” agreed Karl.

*

The less said about Christmas Day, the better. Well, it wasn't that bad for me, and I could look forward to taking some leave after we got back from Berlin and seeing my mother and brother and sisters. Let’s just say that the King believed in long Christmas church services. _Very long_ church services, perhaps unsurprisingly. And he did not believe in anything like a proper Christmas meal afterwards. They did all eat together, for a wonder, but it was all completely silent except when one of the princes or princesses was spoken to by the King or Queen, which was as likely to be an insult as anything else. Even in my quick trips to take in food or bring plates back, I could hear the King berating Prince Friedrich for his inability to drink as much beer as his father desired him to, and when the King stopped the Queen started haranguing Princess Wilhelmine for being a burden to her. (The Princess, as far as I could tell, was a grown married adult with a household of her own, which didn’t seem much like a burden to me, but what did I know?)

The younger princes and princesses seemed to mostly be ignored by everyone else, but sometimes I could see them cringe when they thought one of their parents was looking their way. Once I saw one of the younger princesses spill a glass of water. Her eyes went wide with fear; she glanced at the Queen and hunched over the glass as if she could hide it with her body. Fortunately for her, the Queen was busy at the time yelling at Princess Wilhelmine, and Karl was able to take the glass quickly before anyone noticed. I didn’t want to think about why the King and Queen’s children were like that.

"Being a servant in this palace is easier than being a prince or princess," I said to Karl as we carried the dishes back into the kitchen. The kitchen was warmer than the dining room; the King didn’t want to pay for heat, but the kitchen was warmed by the ovens. Two servant girls were hanging mistletoe over the doorway and giggling, while others were swapping presents. There was an air of festivity here that was completely lacking in the dining room.

He sighed. "Sometimes. If you don't catch the King's fancy... there was a man here, his name was Gundling. The King’s father hired him; a scholar, they say he was. Well, this King didn't like that. He doesn’t think much of scholars, does the King. Gundling became the butt of the King’s jokes, the court’s Fool. He was made a baron, but in the end Gundling drank himself to death.”

Emil was nearby and had heard. He said quietly, “My father was there the night he was beaten and his wig set on fire. And he was the one who got to procure the bears.”

“Bears?” I yelped involuntarily.

Karl nodded. “Bears in his bedroom, and that wasn’t the worst of it.”

I shivered. I wondered whether it was truly worth it, having to be around all these crazy Hohenzollerns. And I wondered how Prince Friedrich was doing.

*

Prince Friedrich wasn’t doing too well, as far as I could tell. 

On the afternoon of Christmas day, everyone was feeling a little more lazy than usual, and I managed to steal some time in the middle of the afternoon. The King didn’t give his servants official time off, even for Christmas (of course he didn’t), but the steward would often look the other way if you didn’t take too much time and there wasn’t anything special going on. So I went up to the Prince’s room, knocked, and at the peremptory command to enter, let myself in. I locked the door behind me, out of habit.

The Prince was sitting on his bed, his knees drawn up, looking fixedly at nothing. “Oh, it’s you,” he said tiredly, not looking at me. “Brought me any messages from my father?”

I surveyed him a bit worriedly. It wasn’t like him to be quite so terse and subdued. The Prince Friedrich that I knew usually delighted in telling me all about whatever he had been reading or thinking about at the time, sometimes hardly letting me get a word in edgewise.

“No, my prince,” I said. “I only came to see how you were doing. And to bring you candles.” I showed him the candles from Frau von Pannewitz. 

He smiled briefly, but only briefly. “I thought you might have come from my father, as very soon now, I am due for another lecture on how I am a disappointing son and a disgrace to the Hohenzollerns.” He passed a hand over his forehead and glanced at me; in his look was pleading and wistfulness and _wanting_.

“Can I help, sir?” I asked him.

I didn’t know quite what I had done wrong, but all of the emotions went right out of his face. There was a long pause, during which I wondered what I could have done differently, but couldn’t think of anything.

Finally the Prince said, “Actually, I think you can, Fredersdorf. I told my sister that I would arrange a secret audience with her and Seckendorff. I think he can manage things so that my sister’s standing with our father is a little better. The devil knows I can’t do that! Do you think you could help out? I managed to meet Seckendorff and tell him what I wanted, but my father is watching me closely enough that I don’t think I can set all the mechanics in motion.”

I sighed internally. More politics was not what I thought would be fun, here. But I thought I could probably find someone to help, and told him as much. I then also told him about the gossip in the kitchens, that Seckendorff might have been the one who arranged the Prince’s marriage.

Prince Friedrich nodded grimly. “That matches what I’ve heard as well,” he said. “That man is too slimy to live! He has plots within plots... Well. Set up the meeting anyway. If there’s any chance my sister must be helped, we must do it.”

I bowed. “Of course, my prince. I’ll see that it gets done.” He looked gratified at my response, though there was still a wistful sad look about him, which I wished I could fix as easily.

*

Emil, as I’d thought, was able to arrange for Seckendorff and the Princess Wilhelmine to meet. Unfortunately, of course, he could not control the meeting in any way. He reported back that the meeting had happened, but Seckendorff and the Princess had been unable to come to common terms. “And,” he said morosely, “Minister Grumbkow and Ambassador Seckendorff have ganged up on the Prince and Princess. Told them they’re not to meet, and if they do meet, none of those long intense discussions they like to have, no touching, _definitely_ no flute-and-lute playing.”

“Oh,” I said, frowning. “Could we somehow --”

“No,” said Emil succinctly. “Grumbkow and Seckendorff understand how the King thinks, and if they say it’s necessary, well… you know what happened to the last fellow who tried to go against the King for Prince Friedrich’s sake.”

“Yes.” It was something that I hadn’t thought about that often in Ruppin. But here, I had started to have my own nightmares, of Lieutenant Katte kneeling, waiting for the executioner’s sword to come down. I supposed that all the servants here must have that image in their heads as well.

We sat there for a moment in silence, until one of the servant girls -- Marta, I think it was -- came by and said, “Hey, Prince’s man. Michael! There’s a visitor for Prince Friedrich, d’you want to take him? It’s Baron Fouqué,” she said, glancing at Emil.

“Oh, Fouqué,” Emil said, his grim look dissipating a bit. “Yes. The King even likes him. I suppose because he’s such a good officer.”

I rose. “Of course, Marta,” I said, smiling at her; she grinned back at me. “Anything for our prince, right?”

I collected the nobleman -- he was, indeed, in uniform -- and led him to Prince Friedrich’s room. “Sir,” I said, “there’s a visitor for you. Baron Fouqué.”

Prince Friedrich opened his door. “Sir,” Prince Friedrich said.

Fouqué bowed, very correctly, and then a long look passed between them. 

Fouqué opened his arms and Prince Friedrich almost ran into them, and the two embraced for a long time. I could see Friedrich’s body relax, in a way he hadn’t been relaxed the entire time he had been in Berlin. Friedrich sighed a little and put his head on Fouqué’s shoulder.

I had all kinds of complicated feelings about this, which I squashed down, as they were of course completely irrelevant to the situation. I was mostly happy that there was something positive in Prince Friedrich’s life, of course. 

“Friedrich!” said Fouqué, stepping back and putting his hands on the Prince’s shoulders. “My boy, you don’t look well. Come, tell your friend all about it.”

“Of course,” said the Prince, smiling at Fouqué. “Ah, it’s so good to see you, my friend! I thought of you as I was reading Plutarch --”

And so talking, they disappeared inside the Prince’s room. I went to do some shoe-polishing (did I mention there was always something to be done?) and was summoned back once it was time for Fouqué to leave.

No one usually talks to the servants, so I was startled when at the door Fouqué said in a low voice, “Friedrich mentioned you to me. He considers you his friend.”

“He is the best of princes,” I said warmly. I was pleased that the Prince had thought to mention me to his friend.

He scrutinized me for a moment. It was a little disconcerting; during this trip I'd been used to being ignored by anyone who wasn’t a servant, which quite frankly was what I wanted.

"Yes," said Fouqué finally. "You'll do. Take care of him."

*

Fouqué had noticed me, but only because Prince Friedrich had mentioned me. I was hoping I could get through the entire trip without any other Hohenzollern glancing in my direction (except for Prince Friedrich, of course). I knew this was easy with the Queen and the Princesses, none of whom seemed to pay any of the servants attention at all, except (as Princess Wilhelmine had done) to sometimes notice when they were talking gossip while we were around.

I’d gotten through five days, with only two days to go -- but then, as I was polishing shoes in the back of the palace, the King came up to me. 

I almost didn’t notice at first. Though he was in uniform, as he always was, he didn’t have any kind of aura of majesty about him. I glanced up, and after a split second recognized who it was. I was shocked enough to stop working; the King in Prussia shouldn't even have known where the servants did their menial tasks, let alone be wandering through there. He looked furtively around; seeing there was no one else nearby, he seemed to relax. 

I, of course, got more tense, not knowing what the King could have in mind. A few things went through my mind; none were good.

The King said, "I've seen you around. You're the young man my son hired." He wasn't yelling, for once. He sounded almost like a normal person.

"Yes, Sire," I said. I blinked uneasily. I didn't like the King caring enough about me to have noticed me at all.

"I hadn't thought my son could do anything right. But you are a fine hire, if a trifle short. Have you ever thought of joining the army?"

A trifle short, oh my God. Everyone knew about the King's Potsdam Giants, the tall guys that the King kept as a ceremonial guard (they didn't fight, oh no, that would be putting them in _danger_ ). It was a running joke in the army that all you had to do was to send the King a tall guy and he’d have warm fuzzy feelings for you. I’d missed the cutoff by only a bit. From the way the King was looking at me, he was rethinking that cutoff.

The thing was, I’d actually been in the army. My mouth clamped shut on a totally irrational urge to say, _I played oboe in the army, Sire._ I knew very well what he thought about music, thank you. 

But the one thing I knew I didn’t want was to go back to the Army with the King knowing anything at all about me and where to find me. I cast about frantically for a way to convince him that he didn’t want me to do this.

 _I hadn't thought my son could do anything right._ I’d heard him say variants of this a number of times throughout our Berlin visit. Prince Friedrich was the source of all trouble and problems and complaints -- though he hardly said a word.

Part of me had never really understood how a father could have jailed his son and executed his son’s beloved. Part of me had known that the King had done it on purpose, but I had somehow ignored that because I couldn’t really conceive of how that could be true. Deep inside, I suppose I’d thought it was the King briefly letting his temper get the better of him.

I understood now, and suppressed a shudder. I understood that the King had done it because he wanted to break his son. And that he still wanted to break him.

I took a deep breath. 

“Sire, of course the army is always a possibility. I am happy where I am at present, though -- even if the Prince doesn’t quite approve of me.” I let my shoulders droop a bit. “I think he may have had second thoughts about hiring me. I think he’d rather have hired someone who was… a little more refined. But I’m as rough a German peasant as they come, I suppose,” I finished glumly.

The King smiled widely and patted me on the shoulder. (Which was odd; the King is rather shorter than I am, and had to reach up to do so.) “Now, now, my boy. It was just a suggestion. But if you’re happy where you are, by all means stay with the Prince. Teach him to appreciate good German virtues, eh?” He smiled again.

“Yes, Sire,” I said. I wasn’t sure how convincing my return smile was, but it must have been good enough, because he winked at me, gave my shoulder another pat, and departed.

I let out a deep breath, feeling sick and dirty and relieved, all at once.

*

I couldn't tell Prince Friedrich, of course. And it was hard enough for me to get close to him anyway. I did mention it to Karl as we were playing cards. I made sure no one around us was paying attention and said, elaborately casual but quietly, so only he could hear: “The King came up to me -- Does he ever do that, uh, come up to the servants? The, uh, young men?”

Karl threw his cards down and said violently, “I’ve got to get out of here. I’m going to get out of here, first chance I get. I swear to you.” Which, we both knew, was as good as saying yes. Some of the other servants turned their heads, but apparently were used to Karl doing this, for when they saw it was him they shrugged and turned back. Karl sighed and picked his cards up again. “He doesn’t _do_ anything, you know. He just _looks_. Even if I were two inches taller, all he would do would be to _look_.”

“I… got that impression,” I said delicately.

“He’s been worse lately. I don’t know why.”

I thought of what Emil had said the first day about the Queen not allowing the King in her rooms any more, and wondered. But I held my peace.

Karl went on, “This place is seriously fucked up. I don’t know how my family stands it. Emil even likes it here. I ask you. There must be something wrong with him!”

“I understand completely,” I said with absolute sincerity. “If I were you, I’d also be out of here immediately.”

“You say that. You weren’t born to it, like me. You could much more easily leave the Prince. Is it worth it to have to put up with all this?”

Karl had echoed my earlier thought. In Küstrin and Ruppin, I’d enjoyed working for Prince Friedrich. But I hadn’t seen how strange and terrible everything really was in his family. 

*

I can’t tell you how glad I was that we were going to leave Berlin the next day. I’d come to Prince Friedrich’s room to do his packing for the journey. I locked the door, as I always did.

Prince Friedrich was not in good shape at all. He was curled up in a ball on his bed. Having Fouqué had helped, but not enough, apparently.

He raised his head as he saw me. “Oh. Fredersdorf. I got you the blank book we’d been talking about. Two of them, so you can have one for yourself without having to worry about the accounts.”

“Oh, my Prince,” I said, my heart wrenched, “you didn’t need to do that.”

“I wanted to,” he said as he’d said before, doggedly. 

I turned the books over in my hands. The Hohenzollerns were so crazy and awful that I had started doubting everything, including being with Prince Friedrich.

But this was real. Not just the books, but more than that, what they represented: the generosity and the friendship Prince Friedrich had offered me, the bond I knew we shared.

I opened my mouth to say something of the sort, but was arrested by that look again on his face that I had seen earlier in the week, that look of immense unhappiness and want. As if he were dredging the words from a long way down, he said in a low voice, “I just. I need --” And he stopped there, as if any other words would be too much for him.

I hadn’t known what he needed last time he had looked like that. But this time I knew, and I knew he needed it without my asking him about it. Fouqué had shown me. 

You'd think that at Christmas with one's family you'd be able to get a little human contact. With my family it would be nonstop embraces and kids jumping on you and kisses from Mother for everyone. With his family -- well. If one of them gave him a kiss I'd be looking for the poison in it. Except for the Princess Wilhelmine, but now Seckendorff and Grumbkow had said he couldn't as much as touch her lest the King object.

And Fouqué had told me to take care of him. Karl, in his own way, had told me the same.

I sat on the bed and put my arms around him. The muscles in his back were rigid. I could feel his body shake with silent sobs.

I was glad I'd remembered to lock the door. I knew that if the King happened to see us that way, especially after I’d misled him to his face, it would be Lieutenant Katte all over again: I'd be the one kneeling to have my head whacked off with a sword. I knew Prince Friedrich knew it too. And still we clung to each other for a long moment. I felt his body relaxing against mine, little by little.

"Don't ever leave me, Fredersdorf," he said, his voice muffled.

My heart contracted. I’d agreed to serve the Prince in Küstrin, but that was an understanding that could always be changed. Any promises I made now, I knew, would bind me far and above that. Not because Prince Friedrich would hold me to them, but because I would.

"I won't," I promised. "Until death, I won't leave you."

**Author's Note:**

> Michael Gabriel Fredersdorf stayed with Prince Friedrich (eventually King Friedrich II) until almost the end of his life, and it’s my headcanon that he only retired because he knew he was going to die soon. (The Wikipedia allegations that Fredersdorf was dismissed because of financial irregularities do not seem to have any basis in primary sources (see e.g. this discussion of Fredersdorf’s letters and Lehndorff’s memoirs).)
> 
> Almost all the really bizarre stuff in this fic (the cold four hours of German comedians, Friedrich Wilhelm’s Potsdam Giants, Gundling and the bears) is canon. I did make up Friedrich Wilhelm hitting on Fredersdorf and Friedrich Wilhelm stiffing the comedians. On the other hand, my historical consultant thought those things were quite possible :P

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [With You, There's a Heaven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25619197) by [mildred_of_midgard](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mildred_of_midgard/pseuds/mildred_of_midgard)




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